


Maestro

by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Sherlock's Violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/pseuds/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John lets his mind wander while Sherlock is in his Mind Palace, replacing Sherlock's violin with himself in its place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maestro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisKenshin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisKenshin/gifts).



> This started as a short ask ficlet for KrisKenshin. This is what I pictured in my head, but couldn't fit it all in an ask.

John sat reading his newspaper and enjoying a rare quiet day in the flat. Sherlock sat quietly, cradling his violin, reverently plucking at a string every so often, staring off into the distance of the living area. John hummed softly to himself, soaking in the peaceful stillness. 

When he finished his paper he noticed that Sherlock had gone from just staring into the corners of the flat to having completely entered his Mind Palace. John had lived with Sherlock long enough to recognize the signs and know that Sherlock would most likely be there for a couple of hours. John smiled as he set about quietly cleaning up the tea cups and newspapers, before indulging himself in what had become a favorite pastime of his whenever Sherlock entered his Mind Palace, to simply watch his breathtaking flatmate without the scrutiny of said flatmate. He would watch Sherlock’s eyes dart furtively, occasionally closing for long periods of time. He loved the way Sherlock’s mouth would form words and sentences without sound, to watch the way his lips moved in silent syllables. How his hands would move, fingers twitching or caressing depending on what Sherlock was holding. If it was his violin, playing quiet melodies to help him think. And, on rare occasions to see him perfectly still, fingers clasped or steepled in thought. He was a sight to behold, breathtaking and wondrous. How anyone could think otherwise, John would never know.

John settled back down in his chair to watch Sherlock. He watched as the detective’s long, slender fingers lovingly caressed the smooth wood of the violin. His pale fingers a stark contrast to the tan stain of the instrument. Those same fingers would slowly wander to the strings, getting the feel for where his fingers lay and pluck a chord, usually low and sensuous. The hand holding the neck would stroke slowly up and back down, seeking the correct fingering. John noticed that Sherlock had the violin wrapped in his arms, chin resting on the upper body, as if the violin was a person, and his chin on their shoulder, like a lover. And suddenly an image sprang to the surface of John’s mind, an image so intense he had to close his eyes and keep it there.

He imagined it was himself and not the violin Sherlock was cradling. The feel of Sherlock’s chin on his shoulder, leaning down, and breathing him in, hot breath against the nape of his neck. Those long slender fingers, splayed across his bare, tan chest, caressing slowly, surely. Sherlock’s other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with quick, deft movements, playing John as surely as he played his beloved violin.

John sighed, eyes still closed and allowed his mind to wander further with this fantasy.

He pictured himself leaning back against Sherlock, one arm reaching up around the back of Sherlock’s neck keeping him there, encouraging the nips and heavy breath against his neck and shoulder. The other grabbing Sherlock’s thigh and pulling him flush against his body. He could almost feel Sherlock’s erection through his trousers against the bare skin of his lower back. His thoughts wandered as his mind’s eye looked down watching those skilled fingers playing with his cock. The slow slide up, a flick of a finger over his head and then the slide down and back up. Grasping the head, rotating his wrist just so, slowly teasing the sensitive skin underneath. The quickening pace, as John would lean back against Sherlock’s body. Sherlock saying his name, encouraging him, “Yes, John. Let your body be my instrument.” The hand on John’s chest pulling him in closer so that Sherlock could watch John’s reactions from over his shoulder. John could feel his actual body growing hard, reacting to the images behind his eyes.

John inhaled sharply, deciding it would probably be best if he removed himself from the room before Sherlock came out of his Mind Palace and found John in such a state. John opened his eyes, only to find it was too late. Sherlock sat there, violin put aside, a small, devious smile on his face.

“I’ve decided to learn to play a new instrument,” he rumbled and John felt his knees go weak, and his erection grow harder.


End file.
